


Poor Timing

by dsDNA



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, I'm officially really attached to this rare pair, M/M, Naruto is Sasuke's idiot but Tobirama is his bastard, Not Beta Read, Orochimaru is low key their biggest supporter after Naruto, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rare Pairings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, This was supposed to be crack, Time Travel, Two timelines, according to Sasuke there's "now" and there's "Naruto's Konoha", angsty Uchiha thoughts, five years to find them bitches, that soulmate au where you have to meet your soulmate or you die, that sounds really weird but I thought it was cute?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsDNA/pseuds/dsDNA
Summary: Dead people don’t have living soulmates, is what Sasuke thinks when he finds his soulmate’s name, printed by a delicate, practiced hand, on his right ankle. Its appearance marked the beginning of a five year countdown for him to find his soulmate.That or die.Normally, he thinks dryly, still staring at the soulmark, not a very difficult thing to do—but with the name Senju Tobirama staring back at him Sasuke thinks it’d be a lot easier to just wrap up his business on Earth and die. Twenty one is decent age to go, he decides with a hum and puts on his shinobi sandal. He thinks that is the end of it, but he is very, very wrong.Or: Sasuke’s thrown backwards in time to meet his soulmate, stuck in the past, he figures fuck it, maybe he can change the fate of his clan. But that’s only after he finishes panicking. Sort of Fix-it.
Relationships: Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 17
Kudos: 136





	Poor Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Or even: I read Tozette’s The One Where Uchiha Sasuke Is A Feudal Princess and immediately wanted more Tobirama/Sasuke but alas Rare Pair is a special kind of hell so I started writing.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a soulmate AU and given that both Sasuke and Tobirama can be described as frigid bastards most of the time I think I’m being pretty generous with their characterizations.

Dead people don’t have living soulmates, is what Sasuke thinks when he finds his soulmate’s name, printed by a delicate, practiced hand, on his right ankle. Its appearance marked the beginning of a five year countdown for him to find his soulmate.

That or die.

Normally, he thinks dryly, still staring at the soulmark, not a very difficult thing to do—the universe tended to interfere, conspiring to bring the soulmates together in one manner or another, the missing nin knew that much. It was a never ending political headache for the nations to deal with soulmates bearing different citizenship and allegiances, and for which a great deal of brain power was dedicated to resolving each year. Scrolls containing protocol and case studies in the Soulmate Division of Konoha were as long as the list of kinjutsu Orochimaru had studied and experimented with over the years, if not longer.

Would any of them, Sasuke wonders, happen to tell him what precedent there was for having a soulmate that was long-dead?

Likely not.

If he’s being honest, he’s never cared for having a soulmate, never thought it mattered. It was a Konoha shinobi, technically, and maybe in Naruto’s imaginary, rose-coloured world Uchiha Sasuke would have returned to the village, offering his loyalty to the leaf village once more and bartering for his freedom with Orochimaru’s corpse as a token of good will. All to meet his soulmate. Given that they were _alive_. But the world is not Naruto’s design. The blonde often forgets that Sasuke has a singleminded vengeance about him, like a horse with blinkers, that leaves breathing space for no one else in his life, not for Naruto and certainly not for his soulmate. This was fact, uncompromisable, no matter how many times Naruto yelled at him to _look back, turn back, go back_. Sasuke won’t.

He takes one last glance at his soulmark,

_Senju Tobirama,_

before he wraps it and slides back on his shinobi sandal. Five years is enough. Nothing has changed, Sasuke reminds himself, the plan is still the same. Kill Itachi. Reestablish the clan. The only reason this has taken up so much of his time, he reasons, is because _it is so bizarre_.

The figure of the second Hokage is imposing as it is graceful but altogether, it does not, as Sasuke had worried ever so slightly beforehand, make him overly conscious of either the Senju or himself. Among these Hokages, Sasuke stands firm with his decision to find what his resolve will be, heading into the upcoming battle here and now. To the confusion of team Hawk, Sasuke insists on addressing himself as the last Uchiha. Though he knows that the Third might very well and easily call him by his given name. He doesn’t know how these things work, never payed much attention to them, doesn’t know if Senju Tobirama had spent the last five years of his life with the name Uchiha Sasuke inked onto his skin.

And now, finally meeting the man, Sasuke doesn’t _want_ to know either. The Second is entirely disapproving of him from the beginning, “An Uchiha,” the Second says, starting off Sasuke’s interrogation with the most frigid of tones, “Of course you’d stick with a scoundrel.”

Ah, yes, Sasuke has heard about this from his clan when he was younger. His soulmate, the original, Konoha-sanctioned, public enemy of the Uchiha. Hashirama reprimands his brother but Sasuke sees the words go in one ear and out the other with practised disregard. Maybe, just maybe, the Senju’s ears were stuffed with the white fluff of his fur lining on his robes. It’s a passing and petty thought and Sasuke quickly moves onto more important matters. Matters regarding the truth behind Itachi’s last mission. The Uchiha genocide. And the Third gives him the answer that he wants to hear, that his brother has stopped lying to him after all these years, but desperately wishes weren’t the truth.

“…in exchange,” the Third meets his gaze, “for your protection within the village.”

He can’t help it, his eyes move downcast, muttering, “So it’s all true.”

“This is part of the Uchiha’s cursed fate,” his soulmate starts up again, “I can’t believe they’re on the brink of extinction,” —your clan is no better, Sasuke thinks bitterly, scattered with no descendants claiming its heritage— “So they even plotted a coup…I’d envisioned that it might come to something like that. The rebellious elements bearing Madara’s will had been smouldering.”

“But you’re the one who drove the Uchiha to do it Lord Second,” Orochimaru interjects and Sasuke glares at him, attempting to communicate with his eyes alone that he will kill the Snake Sannin _a second time_ if he even thinks of exposing Sasuke out of a heavily misguided sense of pity for him, “It could be said that the seeds got sown with the Uchiha Police Force that you created.”

“What did you say?”

Sasuke wonders distantly if the Senju is playing dumb. Two of Tobirama’s students had inherited his prejudices against the Uchiha. One had become a Hokage, under which the Uchiha suffered for his habit of harbouring shinobi who violated the Uchiha clan in unthinkable ways, including one, _a body thief,_ he’d raised on his very own. The other an Uchiha eye collector. How does one accidentally raise the two key players in the Uchiha clan’s demise, Sasuke briefly questions, before concluding that it couldn’t have been accidental at all.

Orochimaru is more indulgent than Sasuke is, takes the time to explain for those who hadn’t the opportunity to know these bits of history, “Those who crack down on crime tend to be easily disliked. The more authority such a group has, the more conceited it can get. By building the Police Station next to the Prison under the pretext of monitoring the criminals, you conspicuously shoved the Uchiha clan to the margins of the village. That’s what fostered the adherents to Madara.”

“Did I not emphasize to you over and over again not to slight the Uchiha,” Sasuke hears the First say to his brother, shocked.

“But I gave them positions they were eminently qualified for. And I believed that even if another Madara were to emerge, he could be dealt with right away.” —Ah, but it’s rare that a Madara (overkill, Sasuke would later huff) is needed for dissent— “As you well know, Brother, the Uchiha are…a clan possessed by evil!”

The dead man standing sighs deeply when Orochimaru continues to persecute his character and spares some pretty words, calls the sharingan eyes which reflect the heart, to then turn tail and claim their self-destruction as a testament to their inherent unruliness and a necessary sacrifice, at which point Hashirama sees fit to step in and moderate. And for good reason, Sasuke was beginning to wonder if he was above resenting his already dead soulmate to the point of murder.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Sasuke impresses upon them, revealing his evolved sharingan, it was partly a stress response but they hadn’t any reason to know that, “I am neither innocent, nor a child.”

Hashirama is upset at the sight of the Uchiha’s eyes. It is obvious to Sasuke who can notice every minute twitch of the elder Senju’s facial muscles, like most faces are, and it is mildly upsetting that Tobirama’s face is one of the few exceptions. Especially now, when Sasuke knows that he will expose himself to be more idealistic than he has ever wanted to let on, by asking what makes Hashirama, a man of seemingly endless cheer and idealism, believe that shinobi, whoever they may be, have created _acceptable_ circumstances.

What had made the Uchiha genocide _acceptable_? Why had _Itachi_ , the first of few _true_ shinobi Sasuke will ever acknowledge, deemed his mission acceptable?

Sasuke’s mind tune back in at full focus for the last words of his final question, “…Whether or not I declare vengeance against the leaf or—”

“You brat possessed with Uchiha evil!” Sasuke’s soulmate admonishes, lifting a single finger from his crossed arms while chakra emanates from him, not unlike a tsunami. It’s a wonder that Sasuke hasn’t considered that his soulmate could dig him an even earlier grave than the Senju already had by just not living.

Later, just moments after Sasuke resolves to fight alongside his mother village, he thinks he would have preferred the other Senju brother. Sasuke is used to thick-skulled, jovial-prone idiots, and at least Hashirama had nice things to say about Sasuke’s brother. But no, for reasons he is unaware of, the soulmark Senju Tobirama is inked onto his ankle. A man whose legacy was vicious in its campaign against the Uchiha.

This is his soulmate, Sasuke learns, the beginning to the end of Sasuke’s clan.

Sasuke blames Naruto, growls his friend’s name loudly into the seemingly uninhabited forest, scares a few birds into scattering while he’s at it. He blames Naruto because this is the idiot’s _one_ predictable trait. _No one else could do something so dumb and pull it off_ —he pauses at the thought, because Sasuke doesn’t actually _know_ if anything has been pulled off yet. But he can remember the chuckle of the Sage, remembers Naruto’s hand in his, both telling him he was a fool if he thought they would deny him the chance to meet his soulmate proper. The Konoha nin knows perfectly well what the words insinuate but he can’t claim to know the intricacies of time-travel, even after he’d obtained space-time jutsu with his rinnegan.

It’s nighttime, and the forest floor is damp and cold under him, upwards, as far as a normal pair of eyes could see, were trees, flush with leaves, flourishing into a dense canopy. Hashirama trees, like the ones surrounding Konoha, he thinks. Still in the Lands of Fire. Further he can see the sky and its stars, three glimmer with exceptional luminosity in a row. Summer, then. It’s seconds after activating his sharingan that he disengages with his dojutsu, lightheaded. Soulmate withdrawal symptoms were awful. His wet, bloody cough reminds him of Itachi, dying of the same sickness, before Sasuke had killed him, a year or so before his time would be up. The rustling of leaves is all around him—it’s a strong gust of wind which leaves his poncho billowing and some critters in the underbrush shifting, but no shinobi as far as he can tell. Not for a couple of miles.

Sasuke ponders where, or rather when, he is, while he moves to find better shelter, because he remembers the gathering of cumulonimbus clouds in the far North from his brief look—rain was coming and he didn’t want to be caught under it. He may not have spare clothes but at least Sasuke has always been as hopelessly paranoid as Kakashi had taught Team 7 to be, and this meant he had all his shinobi gear, even if the last thing he remembers doing proper is being drunk out of his mind with the idiot. Sasuke doesn’t even remember the exact moments leading up to his current plight and _it isn’t fair_. Not everyone had the luxury of a chakra Fox who’d burn through twice the amount of alcohol that Sasuke, or even Sakura on the worst of days, could drink, like it was nothing. Unlike Sakura though, Sasuke, in all his drunk intelligence would still try and meet the idiot drink for drink like the stupid bastard Naruto says he is. At the end of the night and come morning, only Sasuke would suffer a hangover, something the blonde, for all his travels with the Toad Sannin, had never actually figured out what was until Sasuke explained that it was _somewhat_ like the time Naruto had been concussed and covered in chakra suppression seals in Grass with Sasuke. That mission had been a particular shitshow: the seal master’s head too shaken to come up with a solution to the seals carved into his flesh by the Jashin cultists, the very thing which prevented his body from healing and naturally ridding itself of the suppressions, and Sasuke had known _shite_ about seals to help, so he’d struggled to bring Naruto back to their village while the blonde kept running off with zero recollection of what he was doing every five minutes. It had taken nearly all of Sasuke’s willpower to not just knock the idiot unconscious but he knew that could exacerbate the problem and he’d worried it would have had lasting damage on blonde’s brain. _Not that he’d ever admit it._ In fact, he’d told Tsunade that he’d tried, and it just hadn’t worked. The retired Hokage had smacked him through several yards of concrete for the lie, but it had been worth it. Sasuke still knows squat about seals and has even less of an idea how Naruto had managed to spin a seal that would send Sasuke so far back in time. _He hadn’t even known what a goddamn hangover was_. Just how. _How?_

Sasuke puts a hold on his line of thinking again because _again_ , he hadn’t confirmed anything. He can’t just go assuming he’s fifty some years in the past, that would be ridiculous. But… considering he’s still _more_ than half-drunk, an hour has passed at best, and how he remembers Naruto’s bright blue eyes positively gleaming at the sight of the winter’s first snow fall just that very night…it’s a losing battle to convince himself step after step he takes that this is still the Land of Fire that he knows. He follows what he knows should be the Naka River that rounds out towards the cliffs and…well, shit.

The cliff face is an innocuous thing, plain as any other lump of large rock but barefaced as it is, it means more to Uchiha Sasuke than anyone else in this time.

_The village doesn’t even exist yet._

_I am going to kill that idiot_ , he sneers and decides, _fuck it!_ This tree is an adequate sleeping spot—he’s stuck in the past! No one lives in what once will be Konoha! Who is going to stumble across him? He’s got a month left, _one month_ , and somehow, _somehow_ , he is meant to approach his _Senju_ soulmate when their clans were _warring_. For Sage’s sake, all Sasuke has to do is cough at an importune moment during combat against a _newly minted chunin_ and it could spell his death. No one in their right minds would believe him if he claimed he wasn’t Uchiha with the way he looked—could he even hold a convincing genjutsu for long enough?

 _Fuck,_ if Naruto was going to do this! If the dumb-blonde-hokage-wannabe-idiot-blonde—

“Argh!”

The Uchiha runs a hand through his hair, pulling some strands out of his scalp and tries to shut down the irrational, speedy and very much drunk-worry thoughts by setting up a perimeter. _Idle hands make fretful minds_.

It helps but he still dwells on the thought. The cold realization was accompanied by an absolutely dreadful sensation of wrongness.

His last month _alone_.

Sasuke needs to stop thinking. He wants nothing more than the silence of sleep, even though he knows that when he wakes up he won’t be well rested, will feel just as tired. He hasn’t had restful sleep in two years. Drunk or not. Sleep deprivation has carved itself into his face, much like it had done to Itachi, grooves meandered through the flesh of eyes and upper cheeks. _Soulmate sickness_ , Sakura told him offhandedly one day, before his symptoms had become more glaring and his friends evermore hush hush on the topic around him, _was first described as a divine punishment for those who opposed and actively avoided their heavenly match._ He’d followed his knee-jerk reaction, to scoff sarcastically about how awfully difficult it was to avoid one’s soulmate, but in the back of his mind he thought that ultimately, it was what he deserved. After killing his last family, after all that he’d done…He doesn’t remember what Sakura said after. But…

 _Drunk sleep is not good sleep_ , Sakura would tell him if she were here. _Repeat after me_ , she’d say, _drunk sleep is not good sleep._

He mutters something incoherent that he’s sure would placate her temporarily or earn him a clap over the head, maybe both, followed by an Uchiha grunt, and lets his heavy lids cloak his vision and finally, the buzz of his brain was no more.

Sasuke’s head isn’t pounding yet when he first wakes up, but his throat and mouth are unimaginably dry. Even after he quickly retrieves his waterskin from his seal stores to drink down greedily, he finds that he is still thirsty, but with the added feeling of nausea from how full he is now of water. It is all together not an unfamiliar experience after a drunken night out and he registers, as he goes through the movements of his normal mornings traveling outside the village, which, as of this moment, meant retrieving all the materials from his earlier set traps, that yes, he is _still_ stuck in some foreign version of the Land of Fire.

A dip into the cold waters of the Naka River, frigid like when he first learned to walk on water with Team 7 and fell through over and over, helps him ignore the heaviness of his lids, asking him for five more minutes and then five more after that. Water walking had been the _round two_ between him and Naruto and the last before Sasuke had left the village. If that same Naruto had found out who his soulmate was before sending him here, Sasuke supposes, very grudgingly, that he’s lost their most recent battle of wills by virtue of letting the identity of his soulmark escape. And, if Naruto knew, who else might? Kakashi immediately came to mind but Sasuke thinks it’s more likely that Hinata had let the idiot know, her love for and desire to support Naruto outweighing her respect for Sasuke’s privacy. Hidden as the soulmark was at all times, cloth wasn’t going to hide his secrets from a Hyuga. Or just maybe, though eminently less likely, he’d given himself away. And in these few and far between, unknowingly unguarded moments the blonde had read into Sasuke, Naruto decided to bring a whole new level and meaning to the catchphrase, “Believe it!”

This was, to put it nicely, un-fucking-believable. Sasuke’s still half convinced he’s in a medically induced coma after the amount of alcohol he’d ingested with his weak constitution. Naruto is, largely, a shinobi who’s purposeful in his words, his actions, and they tell Sasuke that the blonde believed Sasuke wanted to meet his soulmate. Of course, Sasuke thinks mildly, an edo tensei would have sufficed but overkill was also in Naruto’s nature. As was Naruto’s nuanced understanding of Sasuke—his friend is more observant than Sasuke ever gives him credit for, it’s an old and bad habit, and Sasuke struggles to find what could have given him away to the blonde. Though he doubts it, maybe Naruto had been rummaging through his belongings. Maybe he’d found the notebooks and the scrolls, that Sasuke had been grudgingly scavenging.

His first impression of his soulmate had been shit, and he still doesn’t know if he’d sing the Senju’s praises if given the chance now, after what he’s learned since. In the first place, it was only after he’d met Tobirama that he’d given the soulmark more than passive disregard. Combat with the Senju felt natural, like with Naruto, and it had been difficult to avoid being conscious of the ink on his ankle. There had been _things_ that hadn’t sat well with him. The image, for one, of Tobirama as Madara’s makeshift pin cushion, incapacitated and still trying to convince Madara to spare _him_ who he’d called wicked not long ago. The entire, rather disorientating, experience, was what had motivated Sasuke to say _Yes_ when Orochimaru offered to lend Sasuke the Senju’s journals, despite his gut reaction being to tell him _fuck off_.

He may or may not have just said both.

Sasuke rolls his right arm up and around, a satisfying pop comes from his shoulder as he stretches and wades through the water back to the banks of the river, catching two fish on the way. Breakfast and a fire to warm him up before the storm clouds gathering since the night before finally pour. Rummaging through his things while the fish cook he finds what he is looking for: an eyepatch. Black and simple, it has helped him avoid answering questions he’d prefer not to indulge from strangers. He’d been considering growing out his hair, side bangs to simply cover the eye but it still wasn’t as long as he needed it. It would be a more convenient alternative to the eyepatch that gave him grief at times.

The timing is just as well because within his range he senses shinobi—two, but each with monstrous amounts of chakra and approaching fast. This, he laments, is why he had loved having Karin around, the perfect sensor. He abandons the fish and falls back into the foliage, stillness washing over him as he forced his tenketsu as far as he could push them closed.

“…Just here,” Sasuke catches, “…fish…not far…”

“…Still here…” the time travelling nin hears a second voice and his breath hitches ever so lightly, then louder, the same voice continues, “Please come down—“

And Sasuke doesn’t hear a word that comes after because he’s already making his escape, leaping onto the next tree over when he’s rapidly encased by the trees’ extending limbs— _mokuton_ , is the predominant realization in his scattered thoughts, _a cage of wood_. _So this is what Naruto had seen when Kakashi’s replacement had encased him._ For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction is what they were taught in the Konoha Ninja Academy and here it was, the plainest example of the principle, the wood growing larger, stronger with every sliver of the Uchiha’s chakra it was fed. Unless he _wanted_ to go out advertising _Amateresu,_ for all intents and purposes, Sasuke was trapped.

“Please,” the voice begins again, and it’s with a start he realizes that this is _Hashirama_ , a voice he hasn’t heard in many years—younger and less commanding than he remembers, “Resisting will only worsen your…condition. Madara, one of your own? He looks Uchiha.”

A rustle of clothes and hair, probably Madara shaking his head but Sasuke refuses to look back for some reason, “His chakra is unfamiliar. I know each and every single member of my clan. Though I’ll admit…it bears resemblance to mine own.”

Right, Sasuke thinks dryly, he is Madara’s—Indra’s really, the both of them—incarnation after all. Why isn’t _he_ Tobirama’s soulmate? Wouldn’t that have made ending the warring between the Uchiha and Senju all the much easier? Sweeter? Why is it him instead of Madara?

Sasuke would very much like to high tail and run but two kage level shinobi in, as Hashirama called it, his condition? A stretch farther than the divide between Sasuke and sainthood.

“Speak up, boy,” Madara calls, and Sasuke resents that title very, very much, “Your name!”

He clenches his teeth. It was too much too fast. Sasuke isn’t very good at these things—Sakura says he has the emotional intelligence of a peanut—and Sasuke can’t help but agree with her, _just never out loud_. Does he want to meet Tobirama Senju? Does he have a choice? These two were a fast track to that, surely. _And they were together_. The Senju and Uchiha were together… But it’s nerve-racking to think what would happen. In the first place, Tobirama Senju had had no inflection, neither in his words nor actions, that had spoken of any kind of affection or partiality to the last Uchiha. What if the Senju had known all along but hadn’t said a word, _hadn’t cared in the slightest?_ Or maybe only _slightly_ , and was that any better?

Should he just die now?

Sasuke flinches when the presence of Hashirama flickers to position himself right before him. Now, they are only separated by inches of air and wooden bars. It’s with a hint of a wry smile that Sasuke regards the face of Hashirama, pinched with pity like it’d been the first time he’d met the God of Shinobi. Like Naruto, the Hokage-to-be could probably sense his closeness to death using some form of senjutsu.

“He looks more like Izuna’s brother than you do!” Hashirama jokes still, and not long after, Madara is behind the Senju, glowering and then taking Sasuke by the chin and forcing it upwards to meet his gaze. Unlike Hashirama, who liked to still be in the throes of tempering a commandeering temperament, Madara seemed every bit as domineering as he’d ever been. Madara is quiet, his tone is lethal, “I won’t say it a third time, your name, boy.”

Madara really can’t be more than five years older than Sasuke and the jab only makes him grind his teeth harder, trying somehow to calm his heart—a hammer against his ribs—and keep his breath even. He’s successful for all of four seconds until the cough he’d been holding in wrenches itself from his throat, violently tearing at the delicate tissues within, and sputters nearly black blood onto Madara’s unsuspecting hand. Madara’s reaction is delayed, by all means, but nonetheless a violent one as his hand migrates to Sasuke’s throat with ineffable speed and strength. Instinctively Sasuke’s sharingan activates and he’s never more grateful for the eyepatch than he is in this moment because Sasuke _can’t think_ , _doesn’t exactly know what to do_ and he can’t handle having to explain his other eye on top whatever else Madara is sure to demand of him. The grip on him loosens the smallest bit and Sasuke makes use of his arm, which in his panic he’d forgotten existed, to tear the offending limb away from his person. The sharingan is gone as fast it came, a flicker, but he can already see the gears churning in both the Uchiha and Senju Clan Leaders’ heads.

“Madara!” Hashirama whines, suddenly pouting, “You’re too rash! He’s _clearly_ unwell, what do you suppose you’ll gain from further injuring your…clansman.”

“He’s not mine.” Madara insists again, but even the future madman is starting to sound unsure of himself, seemingly appraising the younger Uchiha’s features.

Whatever Sasuke says now, he can’t take back, but the conscious realization is belated and instead he blurts out, “Sasuke Uchiha.”

It’s the metaphorical match in the gunpowder barrel, because the reaction is near instantaneous.

Hashirama’s gasp is so loud Sasuke thinks he could have inhaled thirteen breathes worth of air in the time it took for one and Madara balks with the grace of an elderly donkey. Sasuke knows he can confirm his identity if his soulmark is true; their reactions tell him his name is familiar and that can only mean one thing: Tobirama has a soulmark and it’s written in Sasuke’s hand.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that yet.

“That…” Hashirama exhales the word, “Makes very little sense, young man. You do understand don’t you?”

It doesn’t seem like they do either.

On second thought, Sasuke thinks to himself while shaking his head at Hashirama, maybe the sheer surealness of Tobirama actually bearing his name is making him feel a little faint. The wooden bars seem to tighten and it’s not long at all before he feels himself sapped of his consciousness completely.

Loud, aggressive whispering, like a swarm of flies, is what Sasuke thinks when he wakes up. His lids are still heavy from sleep and he’s partly convinced they’re staging this to test his reaction. If, of course, those were indeed the voices of the founders and he’s not just waking up from that medically induced coma. “He shouldn’t know what name he has— _Only_ the three of us know and we’ve taken every precaution for _two years to be_ _discreet_! Tobirama is _no where_ near the level of soulmate sick that this one is.”

“Hashirama, the only other Sasuke my clan has is _twelve_ and that _child_ doesn’t bear your brother’s soulmark. You’re being unreasonable. His soulmark has _always_ made you unreasonable.”

Well. Given Madara’s utter exasperation, there seems to be more nuance behind the bite than Sasuke is willing to unpack at the moment. Perhaps it wasn’t staged. Perhaps Sasuke was simply a being so close to becoming one with the inanimate that even his waking form proved indistinguishable from the dead.

“Madara, of all people I wouldn’t think you would expect reason with regards to family. I don’t think it’s out of line to ask of you the chance for Tobirama to at least mentor the boy. _For me_ ,”

The silent _please_ went unsaid at the end but echoed in the room nonetheless.

“Hashirama,” he hears Madara grind the name out, “You can try again another time.”

There’s shuffling, and then the closing of a sliding door so sharp and loud that Sasuke nearly jolts but no, Sasuke _actually_ startles out of his skin when the Senju speaks up, very obviously talking to him this time, “Would you like my help to sit up?” he chuckles, “There is no point to eavesdropping when I’ve got little to hide. I am Hashirama Senju, Leader of the Senju, it is a pleasure to see you awake… Sasuke Uchiha.”

His name sounds… Sasuke doesn’t know what his name sounds like on the Senju’s tongue but there’s an emotion behind it unlike anything he’s witnessed from Hashirama.

Warily, he opens only his right eye—they’d taken off his eye patch and shirt—and takes a glance at the Senju, passively noting how he feels very much like he is channelling his inner Kakashi. The man sighs deeply when he takes note of Sasuke’s realization, “My apologies, Madara—your Clan Head, or well, the Uchiha Head—began searching for a soulmark but he didn’t get very far along in his business,” Hashirama stumbles over slightly, then chuckles, not explaining why exactly that was the case. He’s not sure he wants to ask.

“Water…” Sasuke croaks and sits up, gingerly takes the cup he is given, he drinks slowly, unlike the last time, savouring every refreshing drop.

“It has not been long…almost two days,” and Sasuke sputters because _in what world_ was that not long. It must have shown on his face because Hashirama clears his throat, “Time passes differently, much quicker, with the current…order of business…Did you come to gain residence and protection from your clan?”

Sasuke pauses with his water, looking down and frowning at the empty cup before shaking his head no. The Senju makes it seem like Sasuke was a run away, or a love child who slipped through the cracks, maybe the product of a successful honeypot but he’s not. Sasuke is not quite listening to whatever else the man says because his heart is a rapid thrum under his skin—Tobirama Senju could be just right around some corner in this building. He finds his poncho is neatly folded and not far, takes the time to put it on with his one hand, hoping it could hide the beat of his heart and how it made his skin flutter.

“Then…for what have you disturbed the Uchiha-Senju Allied Lands?”

Whatever response he had for that comes out strangled and tries to take a sip from the empty cup, only to mutter, “Wrong place and time, wasn’t my intention.”

It’s not a full sentence but Sakura would have been proud. Talking when he was angry…an avenger…that had been a lot easier. Hateful monologues and sharp demands came out very easy then, but this was now, these were strangers and Sasuke doesn’t have the experience he should talking normally to other normal people by his age. Though Hashirama is not _normal_ , per say. Simply…emotionally well-adjusted, unlike most of Sasuke’s entourage and immediate circle.

“You have a soulmate.” Hashirama says abruptly, eyes maybe even gleaming when Sasuke nods and supplements with, “Five years is…almost…”

At this, Hashirama is again sullen, “I’m sorry. I’m sure the Uchiha will not refuse to shelter one of their own in their last moments, no matter how estranged you are from your family.”

 _Tobirama Senju is my soulmate. Your brother. If you’d only take me to him, maybe I would live…_ Is what Sasuke thinks he wants to say, but instead, because he’s just so tired and this could all just be a very real dream—(Maybe they hadn’t defeated Madara and Sasuke’s just been living in the infinite genjutsu, he wants to toss into the air and groan.)—so instead he shuffles off the blanket lying over top of him, unwinds the bandage bound ankle and slips of his sandal. He shouldn’t be surprised but he is. The soulmark is still there and Hashirama’s breath stutters beside him.

Considering the finality in Hashirama’s earlier tone, Sasuke’s presence must be a faint flicker, dying out. Maybe this was what was meant to happen, Sasuke meets his soulmate but still dies because he’s waited much too long. Tobirama lives on, bearing his grudge against the Uchiha like a cross, and someday, down the line, Sasuke Uchiha will be born again. Doomed to live the same life he’d lived over and over. The time traveller once wondered if meeting his dead-alive soulmate counted, if an edo-tensei who hadn’t acknowledged him would mean he’d live past twenty-one.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

He lifts the foot and swings it over to the Senju Clan Head, allowing the Head to gingerly take his leg and trace the soulmark. Though he hates the touch of strangers, the Uchiha reasons the benefits outweigh the discomfort of such an interaction. Soulmates weren’t an exact science, even less so before information could be centralized and then subjugated to analysis via modern technology, and Sasuke can’t explain why the appearance of his and Tobirama’s soulmarks are so off so he might as well have Hashirama affirm for himself that it wasn’t a mortal tattoo or illusion. If he had to guess, it had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t existed in this time before three days ago but he’d sooner eat his foot and soulmark with it than open that can of worms when he could stick to “Sick, wandering, abandoned Uchiha”. The title wasn’t even too far off of who he actually was back in his own time.

Eventually Sasuke gets his limb back. Hashirama’s emotions are an open book to Sasuke now, as though the man had been muffling his expression before, and Sasuke can’t decide whether the Senju was blubbering with excitement or depressed as the sea was deep. Sasuke supposes that the man is happy to have found him but isn’t enthused that his brother’s soulmate is knocking on death’s door.

“Excuse me,” Hashirama says, his mind distant, before flickering out of sight, “I will be back in but a moment.”

A month. Sasuke licks his dry lips. He has little less than a month left, meeting Tobirama may extend that but he wonders if it’ll be enough to go back home to Naruto’s Konoha after. Soulmates do that all the time, he thinks, when they’re shinobi of different allegiances—they meet once, before any damage can be inflicted, and then they part ways for life, only to cross paths on the occasional field mission. Sasuke could still do the same, couldn’t he?

(He’s deliberately ignoring the five minute rule—international soulmates are allowed only five minutes together to prevent the formation of an attachment, bond was the colloquial term for it.)

Sasuke knows what Tobirama looks like, but his breathe hitches anyways at the sight of his soulmate entering the room all the same because alive, Tobirama looks much more…lively— _was he infected by the idiot’s stupidity to think such a thing?_ The Senju’s skin was cool toned, unmarred by hairline cracks of a kinjutsu and his irises were a brighter ruby than he remembers, so much clearer against the whites of his eyes. The facial tattoos are a better colour match now, he thinks, now that the tone of his skin and eyes are restored. And his hair, it’s a soft white, untinged by grey, it looks a lot less like straw and more like a cloud. Tobirama may have been handsome before but death had dulled his features—and _again_ Sasuke wants to kick himself for sounding so surprised over every minute difference between then Tobirama and now Tobirama. Above all, what Sasuke notices is Tobirama’s expression, _thoughtful_ , as though he were looking at a long lost puzzle.

“…Brother, tell me you’ve had one of our healers look him over,” Tobirama says finally, mildly irate, pinching at the skin between his brows. He walks over to Sasuke slowly, and crouches behind him while Hashirama steps out for a moment to call for one, seemingly sheepish. Sasuke freezes, doesn’t think he should trust even his soulmate with his unprotected back but forces himself to stay stock still, even as the Senju takes the fabric of his poncho and raises it to expose the skin on his back to Hashirama when the Clan Leader is back in. Tobirama was careful at first when he raised the poncho to not touch Sasuke, but after a moment, Sasuke feels the contact of skin on skin when just the pads of Tobirama’s fingers press into his back. Sasuke winces, the skin is more tender than it should be, and turns to look at Tobirama, who avoids his gaze in favour of burning a whole through his back. Sasuke’s irritated but his hair raises anyways at the attention. The healer pads in and over to the two of them quietly, takes Tobirama’s place and lightly gasps at the sight. Sasuke wants to snap at her, wants Sakura who would tell him what exactly was going on, because if they think he can see his own back then they’ve got their dojutsus mixed up.

“Bruising on your back,” Tobirama offers, “Blooming to be about… half the size of it.”

Oh. Sasuke blinks. He hasn’t felt well in ages and Kakashi hadn’t cleared him for missions in ages because of it; chronic pain wasn’t a foreign concept and he’d thought very little of a mild ache in his back in light of it. There’s no reason he should have a bruise unless the blonde idiot had smacked him across the back with zero restraint. Just thinking of such a thing makes him wince and the healer gives him a curious look that he shrugs at. He realizes he should introduce himself but instead he just huffs, “Hn.”

“Yes,” Tobirama responds dryly, as though playing along, “We are aware you are an Uchiha. Tobirama Senju.”

Sasuke’s surprised at the Senju’s friendliness, but refuses, of course, to show it, “Sasuke.”

“I know.”

The topic of soulmates goes undiscussed. They do not trade soulmarks or stories of when it first appeared and how they felt like Sasuke has heard so many others do. That is, everyone but Shikamaru, who’d thought the entire ordeal had been quote, ’Troublesome’. The Sand nin soulmate had given her partner _Hell_ for ruining the moment and Shikamaru, with all neural networks of a Nara, learned quickly to never to do it again. Sasuke doesn’t quite mind as much as Temari had but isn’t as opposed to doing the usual social rituals as Shikamaru had made himself out to be.

It’s not that he _wants_ to do all the typical soulmate stuff… it’d just be… well, why hadn’t _Tobirama_ wanted to do it?

The healer speaks up for the first time from behind Sasuke with a stream of words, breaking him from his thoughts, “Your lungs are in an abominable state, shredded by your immune system, it seems. Your white blood cell count is much, much too high. Hashirama tells me you’ve only just found your soulmate. I will be visiting you after lunchtime daily, until I deem you recovered, unless your soulmate calls for me, as they should in case of emergency. Any shinobi in the Senju-Uchiha Allied Lands should know where to find me, or at least how,” then, she adds when she sees his eyebrows tense at the bold claim, “I’ve repaired some of the damage, but it’s no use if I heal you and your maladjusted body reverses all my work. These things take time.” ending bluntly.

Sasuke pretends she’s Sakura, just for the moments he doesn’t know her name, “I expect my soulmate is a busy man—where can _I_ find you, in case I need help.”

“You need only ask for Saya,” she says, “And _I_ expect that your soulmate will be spending a sufficient amount of time with you to ensure your recovery. Six hours, no less. From the perspective of your designated healer, as well as a future soulmate myself, I will let Lord Hashirama know, as well as Lord Uchiha, that you are not fit for any combat and that you’ve been put on bedrest. Your soulmate will have similar restrictions. Though I expect by the looks of you that they need it too.”

Her tone trails off into apparent puzzlement, as though wondering how it is she’s missed someone as equally sick looking as Sasuke within their lands. She doesn’t ask though, and with a quirk of his brow, Sasuke figures she’d been instructed that his soulmate’s identity would remain a secret. Even from her.

(How she can say she’s a _future_ soulmate so confidently, so proudly, is so far beyond to Sasuke that he doesn’t even begin to question it.)

Six hours, though, Sasuke deadpans to himself, is far too long of a time to pass with a man he’s only just met. And one he’s doomed to a boring, compound bound life for the foreseeable future, at that. Sasuke would know, he hasn’t been on a proper mission in half a year, it was _miserable_. The healer chatters on about the dangers of dehydration and how he needs to limit his physical activity and it’s nothing Sasuke hasn’t heard of before so he ignores it until she’s trying to steal his belongings.

“Your right eye is perfectly fine, you’ve no need for that silly eyepatch.” she says when he grasps the wrist of the hand holding onto the item in question.

“I will be the one to decide that.”

“I beg your pardon, I am perfectly capable of diagnosing ocular conditions even if I’m not an Uch—“

Tobirama has the sensibility to step in, placating the healer, “Thank you for your concern Saya, but I can attest to its necessity…it’s of very little medical concern, however, you’re right.”

Saya is miffed but relents and Sasuke swears on his Sharingan that it’s not fine chakra control but a nosy and imposing personality that’s the most basic of requirements to be a medic nins. Tobirama takes the eyepatch with the intention of putting it on _for_ Sasuke and Saya is not oblivious to that detail, even if she is already at the door. Sasuke moves away and takes the eyepatch to put on himself because Tobirama has known him for thirty minutes, maybe less, and hates Uchiha—there’s no reason for him to try and play nice. And he has to be playing nice, because Tobirama shouldn’t know anymore than anyone in this time why Sasuke wants to cover his eye, and yet here he is, pretending he does so that the healer gets off Sasuke’s back. Sasuke clicks his tongue, irritated with the inane niceties of Tobirama, and finds to his misfortune that the length of his eyepatch is much too long, stretched from wear over the sash he’d had wrapped around his hair prior and it now lay slack on his sashless head, shifting too close to the bridge of his nose or down into his cheeks depending on how he moved.

Altogether he must look ridiculous. _Feels_ ridiculous. So he takes the offensive fabric off, not knowing what to do. Eye patches were such inconvenient things. It wasn’t as though Sasuke had two hands proper to tie a knot and readjust the length of the thing himself, so he’d opted for an elastic material but even that needed to be replaced, clearly. If Tobirama was amused, and Sasuke thinks he is, the Senju wasn’t showing it. Sasuke doesn’t pout because he’s much to dignified for such things, no matter how much Sakura liked to joke that his three moods were sullen, surly and sulking when he wasn’t distracted by work.

“Quit sulking.” he hears and Sasuke’s never felt like his mind was read more than in that moment, “You can stand, right?”

Sasuke nods and his soulmate continues, “Come then, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

So, he wouldn’t be staying in this misshapen, windowless room. From a bird’s eye view, the room looked rather like an L with from which ink had bled down from the hook of the letter. What surprised Sasuke more than the architecture’s very odd tastes was that they’d been given the liberty to make such an odd room which would make paranoid, non-Hyuga shinobi shudder. He nods even though it’s obvious he would follow the albino as he gathers his belongings into his storage scroll or satchel and swings it all over his head so it can rest on his left, armless side. Usually he’d put it under his poncho—overtop, the satchel only made his lack of a limb much more obvious but Tobirama was already moving before he could adjust the bag otherwise.

The corridors are not busy but there are people all the same, both Senju and Uchiha, Sasuke notes with passing interest. What had the Senju leader said? Uchiha-Senju Allied Lands? At most three years until Konoha then, but given the interactions of the two clans’ personnel Sasuke suspected much less. They exit the building and walk onto a stone path, somewhat worn. Much later, and closer to a separate, smaller building, Tobirama looks over at him and says, “This is a very temporary arrangement…Sasuke.”—whatever face Sasuke makes is not under his control, was he just supposed to call Tobirama, Tobirama? It struck him as _too_ familiar, too fast—“Our clans have plans to move a little ways Southward and establish a more permanent residence. A village, as you may have heard during your travels.”

Like Hell was he going to call the Senju “Lord” though even if he once had, that had been when his soulmate was also his second Hokage, Sasuke muses, still stuck on his previous thought and only somewhat listening to the Senju. Hours later he’d comb through the Senju’s intonation again and lament. But for now, there’s a lot for Sasuke to reconsider, he realizes—this Tobirama is very different from the one he’d known in passing. This Tobirama is younger, _seemingly_ nicer. Open. Sasuke worries what exactly happens from now on that makes Tobirama change so. What happens to Sasuke? This is how time travel worked right? Nothing in the future changes? Or does it? He could ask the resident seal and space-time ninjutsu expert, his soulmate some voice in his head chimes in with a shade of pride, but he doesn’t want to rock the boat when he’s already quite seasick. There’s a hand on his shoulder, large and firm, that tries to shake him back to reality—and that’s mildly interesting, he thinks, because lately, Sasuke has had so much time to himself that his default is to entertain himself within the confines of his imagination, and there’s few occasions that he’s pulled from them. His friends were all busy and important village figures, after all. It shakes him again because there Sasuke goes, easily reabsorbing himself back into his thoughts.

“Yes?” Sasuke says, before he can space out again.

“Come on, you can’t burn the house down just staring at it like that, even with your Sharingan,”—it’s a joke, Sasuke realizes, disturbed—“I’ll show you your room and then…I’ll return for dinner.” Tobirama finishes, clearly deciding not to divulge why it was he was leaving. This is much more familiar—secrets, omission, mistrust—and while it doesn’t make Sasuke feel better per say it does put him at ease because he’s a shinobi with an unhealthy level of paranoia ingrained into him through years of encounters with _absolutely mental_ ninja, Naruto’s brand of pranking and Kakashi’s habit of appearing when he’s least wanted, which explains why Sasuke’s warning sirens have been going off _loudly_ ever since Tobirama offered to put on his damn eyepatch without so much of an ask. Or, more realistically, a well placed kunai at his jugular.

The house is a single floor, covered in a light honey brown hardwood, with not a single tatami mat in sight, and its front kōshi door led directly into a common area furnished with a mass of paper, likely hiding a shelf underneath it all, a chabudai and two zabuton. The next room over, he could see, was the kitchen, but Tobirama has them take a right through the other doorway. It’s obvious that the study is the largest room, at Sasuke’s immediate right and when he turns to look down the corridor there are three more fusuma leading to a powder room on the left and two other rooms. At the end of the corridor, to their right, was Tobirama’s personal quarters and right before it, Sasuke’s. There’s a reason for that, he realizes, when Tobirama and he walk into what is now effectively Sasuke’s room. There is a futon in the right corner, against a proper wooden panel wall, another chabudai with a shelf beside it—a working space of sorts, clearly—and look at that not one, but two fusuma, one which opens onto an engawa which spanned the side of the house and the other which opened directly into Tobirama’s room. Sasuke doesn’t want to imagine how cold this building is during the winter, with these paper thin walls and openings everywhere, it was more like some temporary vacation home than a proper year round residence. But it’s an easy concern to set aside in favour for another. He doesn’t know how comfortable he is sharing what is essentially one room with a glorified piece of paper between the two of them. It’s got very little to do with the initial image of Tobirama which he’d crafted years and years ago based off of Danzo and Hiruzen—no, that image was effectively being razed to the ground and was in dire need of reevaluation—and much more to do with principle. Even before Sasuke’s restful sleep had been ripped to shreds by his soulmate sickness, the time traveller had been able to sleep in the presence of few people, namely, the members of Team 7 and his anbu squad. Sasuke sighs, worried that he’s going to become a nocturnal creature at this rate and knowing he can’t quite request his own residence on such short notice. Whatever this place was, there were very few permanent residents, he’d only spotted twelve other homes like this one away from the main compound he’d woken up in.

Tobirama clears his throat, and when Sasuke looks over at him, the albino tucks his chin in and flickers off.

Articulate, Sasuke thinks with an edge of sarcasm, though he knows he’s no better.

His room was altogether quite bare, but the few scrolls, ink and ink pens the shelf held, as well as the book title “53 uses for Bloodroot”—Tobirama Senju was never known for dabbling in poisons, no, that was why Orochimaru had approached his poisons with all the more zeal, _oh look_ , Sasuke imagines the twisted scientist thinking, _I can continue applying Tobirama’s method to a field untouched by him_. _I’m sooo special._ It sounds nothing like what Orochimaruwould say but Sasuke doesn’t particularly care to emulate his creepy ex-master’s way with words—makes Sasuke think he’s replaced someone in this space. Who, he doesn’t have the faintest idea.

Now, he sighs, what is he meant to do? The satchel he’d been carrying is dumped unceremoniously onto the hardwood beside him. He eyes the fusuma to Tobirama’s personal quarters like it’s booby trapped and honestly part of him believes it very well could be. Instead, his first order of action once Tobirama is out of sight and his chakra out of range, Sasuke is rummaging through the common area before he can help himself, rifling through the scrolls. They range in subjects from chakra theory, calligraphy, fuinjutsu that’s too advanced for Sasuke to even comprehend the first sentence of, and more. The ones that interest Sasuke are, of course, sealed, likely requiring Tobirama’s blood going by the few characters he can discern the purpose of. He sighs, returning what he’s dug through to their original places perfectly, without even an angle ajar. It’s perfect timing too because Sasuke senses the appearance of another two shinobi on the roof tops.

Rooftop guards, who was he? Baby Naruto?

He pads over from the common area back to his room and to make a spread of all his belongings so he can properly catalogue them. When the storage scroll doesn’t unseal properly—only partly releasing its contents—he tries a second time, but not a third because those motherfuckers had sapped his scroll of every weapon he had! Sasuke’s left with his more or less inconspicuous belongings, bland and harmless in nature, like his blanket and waterskin. The Uchiha runs his hand through his hair, for a second he feels rather naked without any weapons but it’s fleeting. After all, he _is_ without chakra suppression seals. Which…he considers, while taking a drink from his waterskin, is surprising. Lots has been, another voice in his head supplements, and it’s very true. Sasuke’s world has been shaken and upturned in a matter of 24 hours, well, longer than that since he’d been unconscious for two days. Nothing’s changed, he tries to reassure himself, rearranging the futon to his liking and plopping himself under the comforter. He recovers, gets to know his soulmate a little maybe and returns to his proper place in time. If Naruto had managed it, Sasuke’s positive he can also find a way to call for the Sage’s spirit. How he’s supposed to recover when he can’t even sleep in peace and solitude neither during the day nor night, that…that somehow seems more difficult. For the time, he drifts between fully conscious clarity and a mellowed existence with his eyes closed until suddenly, every muscle stiffens with cold horror, and it’s as if a lone stone dropped heavy into his gut.

His bingo book. It was missing.

Sasuke curses. It was dark out, he still had his two guards, and if he was right, dinner was a long since passed meal. Tobirama is still not back and Sasuke wonders if that’s a sign he’s been outed. He shuffles to the kitchen—his last meal was two days ago—and sifts through the cupboards, opening them up one by one and finding pots, root vegetables, rice, an assortment of teas, even a kunai, lodged into the wall behind some cups which he takes out with little effort, but not very much fresh food altogether. That isn’t a problem, what is though, was the lack of water. This place has no plumbing, he realizes for the first time. Sasuke has been to the Uchiha’s ancestral hideout, well, destroyed it really, battling Itachi and all, and there had been plumbing—the technology wasn’t novel or isolated, so why didn’t they have it here? First, a misshapen room, then no plumbing, Sasuke doesn’t understand at all the design of these buildings. Perhaps Senju and Uchiha were in charge of hiring different aspects, and out of spite for the other cut corners on the communal space?

There’s no point in pondering all the possible meaningless routes their clans might take to vex one another.

He toys with the kunai as he gathers his resolve. Better a flight risk soulmate than a time travelling one. Either way they knew he didn’t have the loyalties he should, it just mattered to what extent. The instant his rinnegan is active, _Amenotejikara_ , he is off, appearing in the blink of an eye at the compound he’d woken up in. There’s a drip of blood on the floor from his eye and he wipes at it before tilting his head back to a horizontal plane. A single use and it’s already much too strained. _Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous._ He clenches his jaw. This is why Kakashi couldn’t send him out of the village in good faith. Still, he’s careful from then on to not leave a trace of his presence, avoids the few people still walking about the compound until he reaches the room—the first place he wanted to check for his missing belongings, before he moved onto a wild goose chase. He pauses at the fusuma leading into it however, inside there is already someone, not even attempting to reign in their chakra, still as can be as though waiting…or guarding. Sasuke readies himself for conflict, gripping the hilt of the kunai because there’s no quiet way of opening a door with wood this creaky. Tobirama is there, sees him and does nothing, the albino continues, under a lantern light, to read his scroll and intermittently take notes. Beside the Senju is Sasuke’s bingo book, open to _Sasuke Uchiha_. The entry cannot do his abilities justice, much like it could never encapsulate Kakashi’s expertise in well over a thousand jutsu, but it _does_ feature his rinnegan. Tobirama is still the picture of casual, if Sasuke ignores the full suit of armour. The sound of cicadas, a flickering flame and the occasional rustle of paper are in the air and Sasuke would have better admired in a less stressful setting.

“Relax, we’re fortunate that my brother’s wife is away—the Uzumaki seal on this… little book was not very difficult to decipher.”

Ever since Sasuke has woken up, Tobirama has subverted _every_ expectation. He’s cautious as he sits down across from Tobirama at the chabudai, not exactly knowing where Tobirama was going with this and trying not to panic. Tobirama continues, “This is the longest I’ve seen you stick around. What’s changed?”

Tobirama is operating on a mutual understanding that doesn’t exist, what does that even mean? Has Sasuke met him? _What?_

“An idiot.” Tobirama concludes, tone a mixture of resignation and surprise, while he looks on at Sasuke’s apparent confusion, “My soulmate is an idiot. And a drunkard.”

Sasuke’s figurative feathers are ruffled as he replies because _Naruto’s_ the idiot, not him, “I’m right here bastard!” And then gasps very lightly because _Sasuke’s_ always been the bastard, not _Tobiram_ a—who just hums and reaches for a basket beside him that Sasuke hasn’t taken much notice of until now but immediately ranks as higher on his priorities because Tobirama pulls out and offers him a tomato from it.

Sasuke stares at Tobirama’s outstretched offering, the tomato red—but different from the almost rosy hue that Tobirama’s eyes carry, he notes—ripe, dumbly.

“Because I am generous,” Tobirama says slowly to him, “I will attribute this to your apparent lack of health, and hunger.”

Sasuke takes the tomato rashly before he can be humiliated any further and bites into it. He knows how to eat tomatoes, unlike most, which he is thankful for because he doesn’t think he can handle juice dribbling down his chin and onto his clothes at the moment. He outstretches his hand for another and Tobirama simply gives him the basket, and inside it he sees there is bread as well.

“The kitchens are closed, but I thought that you could prepare something yourself at home.”

“There’s no water.” Sasuke says between bites.

“And you didn’t think to ask one of the guards?”

Sasuke hadn’t known if he was meant to acknowledge their presence until now. If it was meant to be obvious, shouldn’t their intentions have been declared with a chakra flare or a greeting? “Why tomatoes?” he asks instead of admitting to the lapse in thinking.

Tobirama allows the topic change, as obvious as it was, “You wouldn’t stop talking about tomatoes being better than ramen when we first met.”

That’s actually not surprising. Sasuke’s done that plenty of times, it was the go to debate between Naruto and him when they were drunk off their asses.

“First?”

“Yes, this would be the third time we’ve met Sasuke. The last time was a year ago, and before that, another year.”

Sasuke thinks this conversation would go a lot smoother, be a lot easier for him to understand if the Senju just spit it out. Something in his face must show it too, because Tobirama continues, “You were drunk, both times, to my surprise. Never around longer than ten minutes before disappearing. Soulmate sick, as well. Unusually so, because according to the appearance of my soulmark it made little sense why you were in the last stages of the illness. I know a bit about space-time jutsu”—Sasuke scoffs, _a bit, right_ , just enough to be famous, feared and revered for it—“and I know the tells when I see it. You’ve been time travelling. But Hashirama says your soulmark is complete, unlike mine—“

“What?” Sasuke interrupts, “Show me.”

Tobirama begins to unclip the armour with little resistance and Sasuke can’t help but ask what he’s been wondering this whole time, “I’m an Uchiha.” It’s not a question, Sasuke grimaces, and tries again, “I’m an Uchiha. You’re a Senju. Where are your reservations? Your hostility?”

Tobirama continues all the while, shrugging the robes so that they are off the shoulder—a few scars, Sasuke notices, are light and fair like the rest of the Senju’s skin, long faded. Sasuke takes a look at the spirit ink and Tobirama’s right, his soulmark _is_ weird. The characters for Uchiha are neat, dark, but for his given name? Faint, at best, and “Ke” was not even there. While he processes this, Tobirama answers him with an air of are-you-stupid, “As the hate of an Uchiha grows, the sharingan evolves. Your eye is nothing like I’ve seen before, of course I’m suspicious. But in your current state you’re hardly a threat to me. It’s a stretch to say you are harmless—but you rather like Brother and—well. Your drunken rambles have made you seem rather dimwitted, frankly I’m relieved you’re relatively normal when sober.”

Tobirama doesn’t mention that they are soulmates, Sasuke notices. But more importantly, what the hell had Sasuke done, black out drunk, he thinks faintly, for twenty minutes in front of Tobirama Senju. Sasuke eyes the kunai with renewed interest because he thinks, with a hint of hysteria, that he’d rather die before his dignity is all but a figment of his imagination. The clink of armour back in place is quiet in comparison to his internal turmoil, “You didn’t show up for dinner.”

Tobirama eyes him with some surprise, “I’m busy with clan negotiations for my brother’s village. If Saya says I must stay, I will, for however long you’re here, but I suspect I won’t have to change my schedule much at all.”

“You don’t think I’ll stick around.” Sasuke echoes, and then, “You didn’t think I would still be here for dinner.”

“No. I don’t—didn’t… My running theory is you travel until five years has passed on my part. You’ve been here already three or four days which is well over my expectations, so it’s not a perfect theory, but it would explain why my soulmark is _still_ incomplete.”

The Senju’s brows furrow at the thought, head tilting down and suddenly Sasuke is paying attention to the way light from the candle illuminates the his soulmate’s face from below. His eye bags seem to sag marginally more with the movement and though they’re nowhere near the degree of Sasuke’s or Itachi’s were it’s simply something he wishes to remember, along with the soft-spoken gruffness that spoke of patience in spite of fatigue.

“I’m _well_ within your sensing range.” Sasuke comments after taking in the theory and shaking off his meandering thoughts, meaning to point out that Tobirama should have known Sasuke was still in his home. They’d all had a first-hand experience of Tobirama’s quick intellect during the fourth shinobi world, it wouldn’t surprise him if Tobirama was right on the money about his time travelling. If he asked though, he was likely liable to have several diagrams and formulae that meant absolutely nothing to him referenced.

“Yes. Well. I’ve known of your presence since you got _here_.” the last word is emphasized, implying more than just place but also time. A meaning that would have been lost on anyone else.

“ _You_ deployed Hashirama and Madara to capture me?”

“Deployed implies authority, I only suggested they investigate a new presence of chakra in our forests.”

“You sent your brother to fetch me.” Sasuke deadpans, and then says the same thing a third time, again, with different words, as though he still hadn’t fully understood and was trying to make sense of the situation, “You sicced _both_ _Hashirama and Madara on your soulmate_.”

“I said you weren’t a hostile.”

“So you knew it was me?” Sasuke’s surprised Tobirama’s remembered his chakra signature after meeting for a sparse few minutes from years past.

Tobirama shifts a little, “Your presence is very _unique_.”

A wave of deja vu crashes over the Uchiha, “You’ve said that before.”

“Hn.”

Sasuke’s never heard a sound as infuriating come from Tobirama’s mouth. He’s trying to have a conversation here—and actually doing very well, he might add—and _unique_ wasn’t a particularly descriptive word. The fusuma slides open again and its his guards,

“Lord Tobirama, the Uchiha has—“

Whatever the guard has to say, they trail off at the sight of Sasuke, a basket of produce in his lap, sitting right before them and their lord. Tobirama acknowledges whatever the guard has to say and dismisses them. The Senju guard eyes Sasuke before leaving and he’s positive the guard is not pleased with his disappearing act but, _oh well_.

Sasuke hears a sigh from behind him, “They know you as a guest, they wouldn’t have restricted your movements. Perhaps forewarned me of your coming here but you didn’t have to needlessly raise their blood pressure, they’re just doing as I’ve requested.”

“A guest.”

“Yes, of sorts. The matters of my soulmark are very, very much tightlipped and between very few.”

“What is this place exactly? Hashirama called it the Uchiha-Senju Allied Lands, but I can hardly see anyone here. The two clans combined are a couple hundred, but I’ve only seen maybe fifty here.”

Tobirama starts packing up his scroll and blows out the candles, “On our way.” he says and stays true to his word once they’re about half of way back, “The alliance formed a little over two years ago. Cartographers have since done away with the old land markings, hence we call our territory the Uchiha-Senju Allied Lands, though there’s little occasion that the respective clans move away from their original sacred lands. Southward, where you were found, is where Brother and Madara have plans to build the village. This year, we created a temporary settlement closer to the future village. Clan officials from both the Senju and Uchiha operate from here, and we host guests and negotiations here as well. I suppose it’s more accurate to say that, at current, it is in an alliance of the Senju, Uchiha, Hyuga, Aburame, and Akimichi.”

The noble clans of Konoha, Sasuke notes, _of course._

“We’ve made much more progress in the past year than we have ever before,” Tobirama continues, with a touch of wryness, “Most of the elders have hedged their bets on remaining in the main compounds of their respective clans. Without them around, business is much less cumbersome.”

Sasuke scoffs, thinking of Konoha’s elders, “Enjoy it while you can. It’ll be ten times worse when you have the elders of forty two clans.”

“That’s a very specific number,” Tobirama hums with a calculated casual to the sound, a stark contrast to the triteness of his words, “Any reason for it?”

There’s a lilt to his mouth though and it’s abundantly clear that the question was a tease rather than any serious attempt for details. Sasuke throws him a pointed look, unwilling to respond out of annoyance. Tobirama pulls back and picks up where he left off of before, “If all goes as planned Hashirama will begin building the village by midsummer.”

Sasuke can’t help but look aghast, and Tobirama looks at him curiously, “What is it?”

“Hashirama built that cursed room didn’t he?”

Somehow, Tobirama knows which room he’s talking about, and if his tone is anything to go by, Tobirama was even less impressed than Sasuke was with its layout, “Yes. Brother’s certainly not going to be allowed the creative liberties he was last time as with the village, particularly the other clans’ compounds.”

They’ve arrived at Tobirama’s house and shuffle in, closing the kōshi door behind them, though it does very little with regards to insulating the home from the summer night chill. Sasuke would thank whatever gods there be that Konoha adopted centralized heating shortly after its founding over the old tradition of just bearing through the cold for absolutely no good reason. In the future, even if his clan’s architecture was traditional, they at least had an ondol.

“You know my brother.” Tobirama picks up the conversation again as they make their way through the house to Sasuke’s room. Presumably, Sasuke divulged this bit of information during his drunk ramblings. Sasuke doesn’t comment when Tobirama walks on in and after him, the Senju dips into his own room before coming back in with a set of clothes in hand and then resuming his thought, “You said he had nice things to say about _your_ brother when you last met. But Hashirama doesn’t know you at all and neither does Madara, let alone your family. It was confusing from when you were until I got a hold of that book of yours.”

Sasuke takes the stack of clothes—white on top of dark purple, nearly black—he’s offered, the darker of the two is clearly Uchiha since he spots their clan fan embroidered on its back when he turns the folded cloths over.

“You could have asked.” Sasuke mutters, eyes focused down at the clothes, fingers gently assessing the fabric. He’s not exactly enthused to have his every word micro-analysed or for every question directed his way to be phrased using subtle intel gathering techniques. As Shikamaru would have called it, it was troublesome, but he tries not to come off irate. There’s a nervous hum under his skin about all this. How no amount of reading through the Senju’s journals or even their brief time together during the fourth war was preparation enough for whatever he was experiencing now. Tobirama seemed so unbothered by their circumstances and _that bothered Sasuke_. It’s disquieting. Why wouldn’t it be? How should he trust his soulmate, knowing what he will do?

“Could I?” Tobirama muses and Sasuke’s quick to reconsider if he actually _would have_ told Tobirama, had he asked. It’s a futile question but Tobirama had recognized that, which is why, Sasuke thinks, his soulmate had phrased it the way he did—for future’s reference. He could work with that.

“As long as I can.”

“Then we have ourselves an agreement.” Tobirama pauses at the fusuma which borders their two bedrooms in the same time that Sasuke manages to question the feasibility of this agreement they’ve apparently agreed to so quickly, “You look like the walking dead. Always have. Sleep.”

Sasuke blinks at the now closed fusuma and processes the words while dressing himself in the white, plain jinbei set he was given. It’s only when he’s throwing over his covers to gather some semblance of heat in his limbs that he has a response. _Goodnight to you too, bastard._

It’s _not_ noon, Sasuke remarks by the amount of light let through by the fusuma that led outside—Tobirama must have opened it to allow for more fresh air. The gentle winds only serve to carry the smell of food to Sasuke’s room, through his nose and to his stomach, a fact only made clearer when Sasuke hears it rumble. The time was a pleasant surprise given that in the past year his body had chosen to supplement his lack of quality sleep with _more_ piss poor sleep. Most days he felt like a zombie, waking up at the crack of dawn. Sasuke changes into the dark yukata, the second article he’d been gifted and pads over to the kitchen.

Naruto was a horrible cook so it’s always been him between the two roommates who cooked. Naruto cleaned and that’s a deal Sasuke was willing to make. Two one-armed men living together had made for plenty of mishaps but Sakura and Hinata often offered their help without so much as an ask. The arrangement had been rather comical until as of late, when Sasuke’s soulmate sickness had grown much too apparent. The pair of them had become rather indulgent of one another’s antics in anticipation of Sasuke’s passing too. Though, their definitions of indulgent are rather different, Sasuke muses, remembering how he’d allowed Naruto to follow him around the kitchen as he prepared dinner for two—normally, Sasuke was quick to kick the fool out because he _loathed_ being hovered around—all the while Naruto recounted non-classified details of the month long diplomatic mission he’d been on in Suna until some hours ago. And in exchange, though Sakura tended to try and rule over Sasuke’s vices and self-destructive tendencies with a chakra-infused iron fist, Naruto still agreed to spar with him, though it was restricted to taijutsu, and tagged along with Sasuke when the Uchiha couldn’t bear his sober reality. The memory of how the night—this time travel business—all began was a familiar biweekly bad habit: Sasuke in their living room with an empty bottle of sake but a single full cup left before he’d set out to wander the streets for more, his Sharingan flickering on and off because he couldn’t sustain it and Naruto peering at him from around some corner of the house with a defeated gaze moments before mustering up his cheer to attack Sasuke in a one-armed hug. _None of this one-armed nonsense after I die Naruto_ , Sasuke had told the idiot just days ago, _You’re gonna be Hokage_. Naruto’s only response had been to squeeze him tighter. Sasuke knew Hinata would be there though, when Sasuke eventually died, Hinata would move in and make sure the idiot was doing alright. Even though Sasuke isn’t dead, he figures that she might be doing just that at this very moment back in Naruto’s Konoha. Reassuring as the thought is, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth that he reconsiders might be there because he’s woken up and is in dire need of a drink of water.

Something about the Senju makes Sasuke think he’s a better cook than Naruto, but maybe it’s just the smell of food that wasn’t badly burnt. The kitchen is empty for a brief moment before Tobirama flickers into its premises holding a jug of water. They exchange morning greetings and Tobirama tilts his chin to the common area where, shortly, they are both seated with what Sasuke knows his mother had favoured a balanced breakfast: miso, pickled vegetables, steamed rice and grilled fish. The sleepy Uchiha clasps his hand in a prayer alongside Tobirama and they both chime, “Thanks for the food” before picking up their chopsticks and digging in.

He’s struck with the relative normalcy that their interactions have exuded, with how Tobirama has taken this all in stride. Then again, he thinks, the Senju has had two years to take it in and apparently, his first impression of Sasuke had been a drunk idiot. Not that Sasuke’s first impression of Tobirama had been great either but there’s a difference, because Sasuke has two version of Tobirama in his memories and this Tobirama doesn’t know who Sasuke has been. What he has done to his village. That he’s killed his brother. Nearly killed his best friend. That Sasuke’s not sure he’ll ever be redeemed for who he’d been.

“You’ve been…” Sasuke struggles for the word after a sip of miso and then settles on, “…very hospitable.”

Tobirama is unimpressed—or maybe Sasuke’s letting his insecurities get to the better of him—chopsticks picking up another bite of iwana char to eat after he replies, “You must think very little of me if you think I’m one to antagonize someone who looks every bit unwell as you. We’re soulmates, separated by time long enough that you needed to _travel back in time_ for us to meet. Highly unusual as it is you won’t see me throwing a fit over the matter, or you.”

That’s…honourable. Sasuke needs to do well to remember that younger Tobirama has yet to become the Tobirama he’s known. Even then, the Senju has always exuded an air of logic and diplomacy. It makes sense, his soulmate had been a key player in the effort of uniting the Konoha clans under a single banner, installing communal institutions like the Ninja Academy. Nothing, however, he can think of will abate the sheer surreal feeling he’s gripped with when he’s asking the future second Hokage what his plans for the day are, _pleasantly, over breakfast_ , and though Tobirama doesn’t exactly answer the question he does respond, “Saya will come by in the afternoon to check on you. Before then, Izuna will probably find a way to get me out of the house to try and murder me under the clever ruse of a sparring session.”

“Izuna?” Sasuke breathes. Izuna should be _dead—_

Tobirama nods, swallowing his rice, “Madara’s brother.”

“I’m surprised you two haven’t already killed each other.” Sasuke mutters truthfully, mind racing. _It’s different._ The past has changed. Soulmates should be contained to a single dimension, Sasuke would know because whenever he had a terrible fit he’d slip into his personal alternate dimension to find reprieve from the soulmate sickness, so this _has to be the correct one_. This is the correct timeline, but it’s _changed_ now. If he assumes that he’s the only time traveller—frankly a fair assumption for how impossible this all is—then he’s already done something to change Tobirama, change the chain of events which leads Madara to his betrayal of Konoha—really, of Hashirama. His revenge.

Was it something Sasuke has done? Or was it the soulmark itself? Was the timeline Sasuke had been born into a product of Tobirama never knowing he had a soulmate? Sasuke might never know. Might never be able to return now. He might not know everything there is to time travel or space-time jutsu but he’s got brains enough to know about the butterfly effect— _Hell_ , Naruto could be different, or worse, not exist. And the same goes for Sasuke.

“It wasn’t for a lack of trying.” Tobirama assures.

“Wasn’t it though?” Sasuke replies, his tone a touch accusing in spite of the way his brain was screaming at him to _not react._

“You’re upset.” Tobirama states, frowning at the seemingly out of nowhere change in mood of his soulmate, “Why?”

Sasuke bites down on the stress response, willing for his dojutsu to not activate, and logic is not at the forefront of his mind when he explains, “He should be dead. It’s very important.”

Tobirama bristles, the fur lining on his coat with him, “We have an alliance. I will not stand by if you decide to take matters into your own hands.”

“I won’t—“ Sasuke sighs harshly, _that’s not what he meant_ , “I’m not going to kill him. It’s just. _By now you’ve killed him._ Madara should hate you.”

“He still does.”

“It’s different.” Tobirama doesn’t understand, Izuna’s death is _specific_. It can’t be Sasuke, it has to be _him_ , “Why is it different? You didn’t kill him when you had the chance—why?”

“I had a reason to be on good terms with the Uchiha. A reason to act in the best interests of Hashirama’s aspirations.” Tobirama says stiffly and Sasuke fixes him with a long stare as soon as he’s gotten over a brief moment of shock. His next words do not sound kind, disbelief mingles with the background irritation and upset which Sasuke is experiencing at the idea that the future that had shaped him could be _lost forever_ now when he says,

“Sages you’re serious.”

“And you want Madara to be on a warpath for my blood.” Tobirama replies heatedly.

“ _That’s not what I want_. Don’t put words in my mouth!”

Tobirama hisses back and his words are quick, “You claim that I should have killed the only person that can make Madara stop and _play_ sane. _Worse,_ you’ve acted wary in my presence as though every gesture for amiability has been an exception, _a surprise_ , _a trick_ ,” Tobirama takes a glance at Sasuke’s expression and simmers all the more, “You’re not subtle in the slightest. I’ve no idea what I’ve done that makes you act in such a manner but I will not tolerate _this_. I cannot change the past! If it matters so much you can use your time travelling nonsense to _do it yourself_.”

Don’t respond, Sasuke. _Don’t do it. You’re panicking. You’re angry. Projecting._ There’s a whole host of problems with this conversation—but Sasuke’s anger is like fire, it’s a hungry flame that grows stronger with every word of Tobirama’s it eats, stronger than him. “ _None of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for Naruto_. You think I want to be here? In this time? _You_ _hate me_. _You hate my clan_. Or you will, at the very least. You think I can help it? Being _suspicious_? Didn’t you say so yourself that I was _suspicious_?”

Tobirama’s own building ire reforms into an icy temperament, cold seething that encloses on him and would steal any warmth that anger or apology might provide to either strengthen or abate it. Sasuke can visibly see how the man’s temper freezes over, jaw setting itself rigidly in place as he responds, cool toned, “I understand. I’ve been operating under the false pretence that you wanted to meet me—“

Sasuke is familiar with this kind of temper, it is that of his brother’s and his father’s and frankly, it’s a childhood fear he’s rarely had to confront and overcome. There is no kindling, no fuel, for fire when the opponent has encased it all in ice, and when that happens it has no choice but to go out. All in all he is nearly just as tired as he was before he slept—doesn’t have enough energy to spare to act indignant or angry anymore. “I wanted to!” Sasuke confesses, tone a mixture of upset, irritation and resignation. His hand covers his eyes because he’s positive looking at Tobirama with a sharingan and rinnegan at this moment will not go over well, “I just didn’t think I could. Not like this. You died more than forty years before I was even born! I was just going to die and then _this_ happens.”

 _It’s a lot,_ goes unsaid but not unheard. Tobirama goes quiet. He waits with bated breath for Sasuke to calm, reaches over the table and hovers over Sasuke’s forearm before taking a gentle hold of it and coaxing it, and his hand along with it, down. The movement is slightly awkward but entirely easy to ignore in the charged atmosphere. Sasuke’s eyes are a coal black but there’s blood and Tobirama is wordlessly gone and then back in moments with a wet cloth for Sasuke, who takes it and wipes the red away.

“Should I call for Saya?” Tobirama asks and Sasuke shakes his head no. Tobirama seems reluctant to agree but respects Sasuke’s wishes anyway. Neither are well equipped to know where to go from here. Words, sharpened by insecurities and anxieties, have been pointed at one another like weapons. They’ve only just met in the grand scheme of time but it’s clear that Sasuke has a history with Tobirama, Tobirama has hopes for their relationship and neither can go unaddressed.

“Do you want to go back?”

“I don’t think I can now.” Sasuke whispers, “And I don’t know _how._ ”

“I can try, if you want me to. I will.” Tobirama says after a time, matching Sasuke’s volume like he had earlier. It’s very obvious Tobirama has put stock into Sasuke for reasons the Uchiha isn’t aware of, but the Senju is willing to let Sasuke go still, help him leave. Sasuke is far from stupid and even he, maybe to Sakura’s surprise, could tell that they’d formed an attachment of sorts. The one’s that soulmates serving different kages try to prevent with the five-minute rule. Tobirama’s mere presence puts Sasuke at ease now, a far cry from what it did when Sasuke first met the Senju. He’s been trying to ignore it, stash it in the deepest recesses of his mind. Sasuke _slept well_ last night, against all his expectations. And Sages, the very fact that Sasuke is comfortable enough with the Senju to talk at the lengths they’ve talked in the first place is evidence for a bond.

 _Soulmate Bond_. The type that civilian women read and fantasize about in their romance fiction. The kind that Itachi couldn’t afford as a missing nin, and by proxy neither could his brother’s pitiable soulmate. The sort that Sasuke’s always felt he would be exempt from in spite of all logic. Tobirama must realize it too, and that is why Sasuke is surprised he offers to help the Uchiha find a way back. Sasuke doesn’t respond at first, doesn’t know what to say to that but can’t bring himself to shrug like he would have if anyone else had asked the same. He finishes his lukewarm miso, though swallowing is a painful process, and then mutters, “That would be nice.”

And all Tobirama does is nod before he asks a question Sasuke thinks may have been bothering the albino for a while. Sasuke, after all, has not been the picture of subtle with regards to his impression of Tobirama, “You knew me. I may have died long before your time but you still met Brother and I.”

The Uchiha grips his chopsticks tighter to keep from fidgeting with them, “A jutsu of your own creation reanimates the…reanimated some men including yourself and your brother in my time… It was a brief but impressionable experience.”

The Senju nods ever so slightly at that, “So I succeed in perfecting the edo-tensei then. Though, I cannot imagine that I’d have shared such a dangerous jutsu with anyone but Brother.”

Sasuke scoffs, “What part of edo-tensei, as in _your grave was robbed_ , implies that the rest of your creations were left in peace?”

It’s got sarcasm but comparatively very little bite. If anything, the time traveller is happy he’s made some recovery from that awful moment of vulnerability, a state he’s been very upsettingly subject to far too often in the recent months, months which were, until as of 24 conscious hours ago, going to be his very last. He’s spent the last year with thoughts like, _this will be the last summer I will experience_ , or _after I revisit my will, I’ll get in touch with Shikamaru about the funeral arrangements_ and even, _my last chance to celebrate Naruto’s birthday._ And some of those thoughts are still, for all intents and purposes, applicable to this new, unforeseen situation at hand. _I still might not survive this_. As though in attempt to brush away and abandon the unpleasant thoughts and memories sniping his mind, Sasuke runs his hand through his hair, reconsidering if divulging this information was a good idea or not. Even if he’s said that he would answer truthfully before, he can’t know for sure what exactly Tobirama, who was, already, looking more pensive than Sasuke thought he had any reason to be, may take from his words. The Uchiha could be revealing much more than he thought he was.

“Tell me,” Tobirama begins, completely ignoring Sasuke’s quip, “Why you so stubbornly believe I’ll hate you. The conflict of our clans aside.”

Instead of answering right away, resisting the strong urge to lie or brush the question off, Sasuke gives it a thought, the Senju and what he knew about him. Sasuke thinks back to Tobirama’s journals again, gifted to him by Orochimaru after the war—the man had somehow found out he had a soulmate _and_ who it was when he’d inhabited Sasuke’s body.

(Orochimaru had been _nicer_ after the fact, it had made Sasuke shudder. The Snake Sannin had respected Tobirama Senju greatly, sure, but that hadn’t warranted preferential treatment in Sasuke’s mind.)

They’d given him a new perspective of Tobirama. His notes were streamlined and organized, except for the entries Sasuke could tell the Senju was truly excited—the writing in those entries were rushed, ink smudging and words blending every so often until the writing became neat, like Tobirama was actively trying to reign back his eagerness, only to devolve into the same scrawl it’d once been. Sasuke knows he’s smart, but even he had trouble keeping up with what seemed like leaps in Tobirama’s logic until he read through to the end and with a lightly audible intake of breath Sasuke would see it all come together. _Genius_.

He could understand a little more why Orochimaru was obsessed.

There had been very little written about the Uchiha other than strictly clinical research on their dojutsu, which he was able to study from Uchiha volunteers, of which Kagami Uchiha, later one the Second’s team members, had been mentioned almost affectionately. It’d been the first time he recalled Shisui’s drunk ramblings of his late grandfather. Otherwise, the documents had done very little to explain Tobirama’s misgivings with the Uchiha, let alone his students. Perhaps there had been some truth to Orochimaru’s saying that Madara had left a scar on Tobirama, and that scar intertwined _Uchiha_ and _danger_. Here though, Izuna was not dead and Tobirama hadn’t had to experience years of Madara’s hatred for killing the keystone Uchiha.

He’s not sure what Tobirama wants to hear him say but Sasuke’s been in a lot of arguments recently over the nature of his soulmate sickness and they’d all centered, in one way or another, about the same thing.

 _Tell me the truth, who is it?_ Naruto prodded him every so often, _we’re friends_ , he’d remind brashly, plainly.

Shikamaru could almost always puzzle whatever he wanted to know out of Sasuke but even the Second Hokage had been a leap in logic too long for the Nara. _Sasuke_ , the shadow user had sighed, _you’re so troublesome—spare me the work and tell me their name, you’re gonna make me do the leg work to drag them over here anyways._

 _Where the fuck are they?_ He’d heard Karin mutter to herself. With each passing month, less subtle and more distressed.

 _Honesty_ , Hinata had gently advised him, _was the best policy._

Sakura, the only one he’d told the truth of his soulmark, was devastated by it but she’d gripped him hard with her monstrous strength, looked him in the eyes and told him not to even dare and think she ever, for a single second, would have preferred to be left in the dark. To leave him alone in this.

Of all in his circle, perhaps only Suigetsu would have forced Sasuke down once he was weakened enough by the soulmate sickness to read his mark…Konoha nin were, in Sasuke’s experience, quite _soft_. And Sasuke…Sasuke was a mixture of his Konoha upbringing and his days of being a wandering avenger. He prided himself, after the war, to have moved past his vengeance and fluffy proclivities _—weaknesses,_ the both of them _—_ but the sicker he became and the more he worried those around him the more he found himself broken down by their concern. Bit by bit. So many moments, close calls, had there been that Sasuke had nearly told someone, anyone, the identity of his mark. Before it could happen, he’d sought out Sakura, who he knew would be duty-bound to protect his secret. Maybe it was being stuck in the village for so long, maybe it was how disgustingly weak he’d become, but Sasuke realized with some horror that he was still quite _soft_ in his ways.

Maybe the Senju just wants the truth. Like all of _them_. But Sasuke is Sasuke and he’ll be purposefully vague because he’s an asshole (not _soft_ ) and he doesn’t want Tobirama to have to live his life second guessing the ramifications of his every interaction. It is, perhaps, the first nice thing he tries to do for Tobirama. Try as he might, _and does_ , even Sasuke’s best attempt to explain the circumstances of and behind his first encounter with the Senju—without implanting suspicions of Madara and the Uchiha, and sprinkled with a cosmic drama beginning thousands of years before their time feature a Rabbit Goddess, all the while sparing some unpleasant details—is vaguely miserable. Tobirama doesn’t ask, though, for more details than Sasuke is comfortable sharing and when Sasuke finds his throat dry from the chatter but his cup empty, Tobirama gets up to heat some tea for the two of them. Sasuke says _thank you_ and his eyes burn like before but for a different reason. It was an altogether alien experience, it’s the most Sasuke has talked with anyone in a single sitting in months and it’s _nice_ because none of Sasuke’s friends had the time to spare and it’s made him more lonely than his ego would have ever let him admit.

Sasuke feels a _pull_ and he suspects it has very little to do with the emotions he’s experiencing. Tobirama looks as though a goodbye is on his lips and before Sasuke can disappear entirely he gets up and he mouths,

_Thank you._

Tobirama has a tentative smile and Sasuke engraves it into his memory. This is his soulmate, Sasuke is in the process of relearning, a man who has tried his utmost to appear trustworthy in Sasuke’s weakest moments. _A rough start_ was a generous term for their tentative relationship but Sasuke plans to reciprocate the effort he has been shown. After all, his life is on the line here.


End file.
